Gnawing Burns
by Oceanbreeze7
Summary: Tony was fine. Tony is fine. He's used to being kidnapped- it already happened seventeen times now- no, eighteen now. He was fine, he escaped and he could still think and- and maybe his arm still hurt and it wouldn't stop, maybe he kept feeling the knife in his arm and kept seeing his calm composed- 'Well, that wasn't very nice.' No, no- Tony Stark was fine. (Not really)


**This is a story challenge given to me and collaboratively written with _Madwamoose._ She decided to post it on AO3 while I posted it here.**

 **This story has descriptions of PTSD and minor implied torture. Blood at certain parts.**

 **I'm sure most of you can handle it, considering what I write and publish often in my other stories.**

 **Hopefully you all enjoy this oneshot!**

* * *

"Please stop. I would hate to get this suit dirty." Tony Stark snarked with a grimace. The man ignored him and continued to roughly force him into a plastic chair.

"It's Armani. Very expensive" Tony bit out, wrinkling his nose as his guard obviously didn't recognize the name. The hired thug quickly tied a coiled rope around Tony's wrist, ignoring how his watch bit into the tender skin on the underside. The knot was complicated, secure- evidently the guard had done this before.

The man turned away, thinking that Tony had admitted defeat with his sudden silence. The dark, filthy room was quiet with the exception of the quickly irritating sounds of his mouth breathing babysitter.

Tony's fingers were already growing sore- first thing was to undo the ropes. His fingers scrabbled at the coils, cracked nails catching on the individual fibers as they scraped over his nailbed. The guard may be experienced, but he, as well as others, _seriously_ underestimated how often this had happened to Tony.

Over his lifetime, Tony had been kidnapped a grand total of 17 times. It was quite an accomplishment to be honest. The most obvious, of course, was Afghanistan. Everyone knew how _that_ had ended.

Tony _did_ remember, he remembered every single one. The first abduction when he was four (The chauffeur had been swapped), to the one kidnapping in 2013 that lasted barely half an hour.

On his scale of _Oh-Crap-Alright-Here-We-Go-Again_ , this kidnapping would probably be a three. They had mastered the awkward plastic chair and the high quality rope, although they were lacking the intimidating hitman, the torture tools, or (in one memorable kidnapping) a legit _shark tank._

He could still work with this, they had caught him unprepared and obviously had the ability to contain him. They hadn't demanded things from him, or started the punching. He would need to stay a while longer if he wanted to find out what these flamingos' wanted, and that was one thing he _didn't_ want to do.

He was left in silence, or as quiet as it could be with a fluorescent light. _Finally,_ the tarnished door across the room opened. The loud squeak of damaged hinges pierced the air- Tony couldn't imagine the last time it had been oiled.

Of _course_ even the door gave a loud and eerie creak.

A man, surrounded by five armed guards, casually walked into the room.

"Wow, look at you," Tony blinked slowly, tilting his head marginally to the side, "Looking all casual. _So_ casual, almost like you do this on a weekly basis. As casual as you can, you know, with guns and all that."

For their credit, they didn't even blink. Which raised the danger level of the situation to a four.

The main man was an average height, maybe a bit shorter than Bruce. He had short curly hair, slightly grimy although it could have been the lighting. He had caramel skin, not a bad spray tan (which Tony was unfortunately intimate with) but actual genetics.

The fluorescent bulb flickered, throwing shadow just enough to emphasize the dramatic scar just above his left eyebrow. It stretched upwards, near his hairline with just enough feathering to show he had secondhand stitches.

Tony imagined an eagle did it, righteous American fury in all its feathered glory

"Mr. Stark. You are a difficult man to capture." The man mused, sounding much more amused than he had a right to. His voice was throaty, low, and scratchy like strep throat. Somehow his _voice_ even tied into his role as a stereotypical kidnapper, even his _clothes_ looked shady.

"Call me Tony. Something tells me we'll soon be chumming it up, maybe build a pillow fort. Tell scary scary stories under this god awful lighting." Tony blurted, mentally scrabbling at the sheer stupidity of what he just said.

This was going to go well.

The guard on the left of the leader-jerk stepped forward. Tony mentally cataloged him Panda, mostly because he could.

Panda grabbed Tony's throat, practiced thick fingers pinched both sides of his neck right over his carotid artery. Tony gasped, instantly recoiling and pulling at his restraints as his head exploded in pain. Black edges infringed on his vision- his temple pulsing loudly in his ears as his brain starved for air-

The leader waved his hand lazily, Panda obediently let go and stepped back.

Tony gasped, head drooping as the blood rushed into his brain and brought about a piercingly sharp headache.

"Yeah," Tony gasped out, breathing heavily to try and recover, "Love you too, beefcake." The other five guards, all of whom Tony mentally named, shifted unsure. They looked at their leader- wow, they were _that_ slow?

Panda turned and slid back into rank, the next hired thug (Dumb and his twin, Dumber) looked at him concerned. The three on the other side seemed slightly better.

"That is enough, Mr. Stark" Scarface smiled, gently pulling out a small knife from his pocket, "or I will have to cut out your tongue."

"Can't expect me to do things if I can't talk," Tony pointed out, seeing obvious flaw in the logic.

Scarface smiled dryly, "Your prized skills are not verbal, Mr. Stark. Learn sign language."

Scarface spoke confidently and without any attempt to intimidate him. That made it worse, that meant he was serious.

Tony clenched his jaw shut to prevent himself from speaking. After all of this had blown over, it would take less time to explain to SHIELD how he had been kidnapped for the umpteenth time, if he could, you know, _talk._ Then again, it was unlikely SHIELD would find him; Tony was the one who had to break out in almost every single kidnapping event. How could SHIELD expect to break him out when they couldn't even protect their so called, 'classified files'.

"Good choice." The scarred man smiled, his teeth were straight and perfect. Tony wanted to knock them out.

"My name is Julian. We will become well acquainted soon enough." The punch to his face startled Tony, he hadn't been anticipating it. If he had seen it coming, he would have relaxed his jaw to absorb the impact; he felt his teeth slide and slice his tongue. The terrorist wannabe probably knew that Tony had been tensing, the jerk.

Julian was strangely well composed for someone who just punched a man in the face, Tony knew that it hurt for knuckles to hit teeth, yet the man didn't grimace at all. Tony kept his eyes locked, and spat out a glob of pink tinged saliva.

It wasn't one of his best spits, he had spat off larger more impressive globs off the balcony of Stark Tower. A portion of it clung to his lip, sliding into his facial hair while the rest barely made it to the floor.

"Well," Julian blinked slowly, like a cat. "That was rude."

The three unnamed goons stepped forward, cracking their knuckles like every bad crime show Tony had ever seen.

"You look like Beavis, and look, Butthead." He garbled out, glaring defiantly at his soon to be torturers. "And you-" Tony paused, evaluated the last man, and blinked.

"You look like Tom Hanks; anyone tell you that? Yes? No? Speak up Forrest, I can't hear you-"

A fist chipped his chin, sending his head snapping back painfully. His spine creaked and his eyes watered.

 _'Here we go,'_ Tony exhaled through his nose, already feeling what could either be snot or blood draining down his throat.

An hour of almost nonstop pummeling. An _hour,_ which was surprising considering most thugs got winded after one or two good hits. Tony was familiar with the sensations of bruises forming, the rhythmic pulsating hurt that followed after he dropped a fire extinguisher on his foot.

Tony's jaw hurt, flaring when he shifted it the smallest fraction. His nose was leaking something heavily, he hoped it was just snot. His wrists stung from where he had been pulled away from the chair and against the rope. His head still hurt from where Panda had cut off his blood flow, and the fluorescent lighting was really adding to the steadily growing migraine. He hoped they were smart enough to not actually crack his skull, brain damage would be just up his alley.

Over the next two days, Julian and the Brady bunch visited him with other fun games. Panda seemed to be the resident choker, who on one occasion knocked a tooth out of Tony when he suggested it may be a compensation thing. Dumb and Dumber had a mean right swing and kick, Beavis was more of a shady back alley thug who would mess you up with a rusty coat hanger and stolen X-acto knife. Butthead was actually crappy with the whole interrogation or torturing thing but knew a bit about medical attention.

Forrest, okay _well,_ Tony didn't really know. He kept staring because _seriously,_ how could _anyone_ look that similar to Tom Hanks? Maybe it was Tom Hanks. Or his secret thug brother.

Tony's left pinky finger was broken, a clean break which now only throbbed dully in contrast to his bruised ribs. His right calf had a series of burns, courtesy of cigarettes and crappy dollar store lighters.

The worst was Panda, who waterboarded Tony more than he beat him up. Tony preferred punches, kicks, hell, he'd take broken _bones_ over that again.

(His mind screamed for Yinsen and his chest surged with the phantom pain of electrocution and the rattling laughter in voices he couldn't understand.)

When the door opened, on the third day, Tony almost didn't bother looking up.

He did, and it was Julian. That was a surprise, Tony had rarely seen the brains behind the operation.

Julian held an item in his hands, holding it delicately between manicured fingers (Oh, Tony would have laughed under other circumstances.)

"Well, well, look what we've got here." Julian gripped, taking casual steps over the diligently cleaned flooring to approach Tony. He squatted, tilting his scarred face to the side with a self-satisfied smirk, "Cat got your tongue?"

 _'You're the one acting more like a pu-'_ Tony's mind stuttered to a halt when Julian turned and walked around Tony's chair, tugging at one of his bloodied wrists.

Why was Julian poking at his left arm? It was still throbbing in pain from whatever Beavis had done-

"Let's get rid of this, yeah?"

Oh, oh _hell no_

Julian immediately stuck something sharp into Tony's wrist. Tony couldn't resist the yell- he had been kicked and punched, but never had they really _stabbed_ him.

It was a knife; Julian was prying into Tony's arm with a _knife._

Tony twitched, minor tremors moving over his body as he felt the cold blade pry further up his forearm. Blood was spilling out; he could feel the rope get too slippery for his fingernails to catch.

Julian was going to kill him; Julian didn't know what he was _doing._

Blood was oozing out and under the chair. He could see it out of the corner of his eye, if he stretched his foot he could touch it.

That was his blood, that was his blood staining the concrete and making the room smell of copper. That sure was going to be a bitch to clean out for the next time the Brady bunch wanted to kidnap and beat up another poor schmuck.

Julian tore something harshly; the wet suction noise was grotesque. The pain didn't end, although it wasn't spreading. Instinctive tears were falling down Tony's face, he was feeling so unbearably dizzy.

"That wasn't so bad," Julian mentioned, walking around the chair and displaying something metallic in one bloodied hand. It looked like paint- Tony hadn't ever seen so much blood in one location. He, he couldn't _comprehend-_

Julian smiled, still so calm and composed. What type of man could slice someone open with a knife, and act so polite after inducing such screams?

He sent in Beavis, who gasped in surprise at the carnage Tony couldn't see. Tony was so _cold,_ everything was stinging and his fingertips throbbed like he had submerged them in ice water. His head was heavy, his tongue felt thick.

He couldn't tell time, everything was a disorienting swirl of sounds and lights. Accents and words muddled and spoken too quietly for him to understand.

His arm throbbed, he recognized the slight prickling as stitches.

He came to once the fog of his head seemed to fade, the air wasn't as bitingly cold. They had fixed the blood loss- which meant they had proper medical supplies. He flexed his arm- the prickling was gone.

 _How?_ Tony gaped at the sensations, it felt that even the open wounds on his wrist were healed, or at least healing. Timidly, he flexed his forearm and tested the muscles.

Oh, how it _burned._ Like the low searing tongues of a hundred candles burning through his skin and muscle.

Was this a new torture? Julian had removed the implant- what, had he put another one in? The fire settled and soothed, vanishing the moment he relaxed his arm.

A faintly hysterical giggle bubbled on his lips- was this what Extremis felt like? Holding the heat of a star in your body?

Tony wondered if they _had_ injected him with Extremis. He thought he had destroyed it- no; he _knew_ he had.

With the sudden clarity of mind, he started once again at the ropes. His blood had saturated the fibers, providing a slick lubricant which let them slide a little further each time he pried.

Tony finally escaped, nails breaking in his haste but finally the bindings wore free. He escaped, smashing one of the guards just outside the door with the metal leg from his plastic chair. He took his gun, and with the combined skills of his sheer determination and Natasha's halfhearted assassin lessons.

He found Julian, finally surprising the bastard. How wonderful it was to give the scum two bullets, showing something _besides_ indifference on his face.

Tony limped out, the burns on his lower calf throbbing slightly against the fresh air. The building was in the middle of nowhere- literally _nowhere._ Tony had no idea where he was, not any distinguishing features to recognize his surroundings.

He kept walking, before finally spotting a payphone, sprouting in the middle of nowhere.

"You know, I always wondered why these things were in the middle of nowhere," Tony murmured, licking his chapped lips tiredly. He could hack something like this, or at least break into the change compartment to get a couple quarters out.

As quickly as he could get into the payphone, with a broken finger and a searing wrist, he dialed the one number he knew would pick up.

One ring, two rings.

"C'mon," Tony whined, clearing his throat and shifting his weight anxiously.

Three rings-

"Hello, this is Virginia Potts. How may I help you?" Pepper. Oh, his sweet Pepper. Her voice sounded as beautiful as always, except there was a tinge of exhaustion and worry in her words.

"Pep?" He sounded awful, like a chronic smoker.

"Tony? Is that you?" Pepper sounded so relieved, he could almost imagine how she would slump in her chair. Tension rolling off of her as she bowed her head.

"Thank god," Tony breathed, feeling the inexplicable urge to cry.

"Where are you, Tony? What happened?"

"No time for explaining. I'm close to the highway, I think. I think I can hear cars," Tony blinked, wiping his face very quickly, "The area code on this payphone is Idaho. I'm in Idaho? How did I end up in Idaho?"

"I think I should be the one asking you that,"

"True," Tony swallowed repeatedly, "Peps, I need you to call SHIELD. I- I need medical help." Tony raised his hand, forgetting for a second she couldn't see him, "Please, Pep. Just do it."

"Tony, I-"

"Pep, please," His breath hitched, crackling higher, "please, Pep _please."_

 _'I'm begging,'_ He briefly realized, slinking against the dirty glass wall the phone was connected to, _'They couldn't make me beg,'_

Pepper could, because he needed her. He _needed_ Pepper.

"Tony, I'll call now. Please hold on, okay?" Pepper sounded professional, only years of getting to know her told Tony that she was borderline hysterical.

Tony was so _tired._ He had been through so much already- he had broken out only hours ago. He had _killed_ people only hours ago.

Everything felt like days ago, felt like _years._ His head still hurt, his leg throbbed, and his arm _burned,_ why was it not fading?

He slid further down, sitting back on his tailbone and wrapping his arms around his legs. The gun was cold in his grasp, he distantly recognized the model from when he sold weapons like this. It was a blessing in disguise that he still was a crackshot.

It was cold, he was tired, and help was on the way.

He could sleep for a while, for a tiny bit.

* * *

Tony woke up with a prick in his right arm and a weight near his side.

He blinked, flinching against bright fluorescent lighting and groaning audibly.

"Tony?" Someone asked, female and distorted. Was it Pepper?

"Pepper?' He mumbled, not wanting to speak too loudly with how his throat hurt.

He felt arms gently closing on him, Pepper hugging him tightly yet not restraining him. If Pepper was here, it must be an IV in his right arm. Thank _god_ it wasn't his left, which _still was hurting._

"What happened?" She asked, her voice wavering with emotion. She had dark circles under her bloodshot eyes, either from exhaustion or crying. Her normally perfect updo had become undone in spots.

"Kidnapped. Broke out." Tony forced the words out. He felt sick and dizzy, the smell of antiseptic was already rattling his nerves. He hated hospitals with a burning passion; Pepper knew that.

"Yeah, I figured that out." She didn't even have it in her to sound sarcastic. "What happened in there? Besides multiple hairline fractures and old bruises.?"

"No interrogation. They wanted a punching bag." Tony winced at the harsh wording. It wasn't exactly _wrong;_ he could omit certain details. Things people- things _nobody_ should know.

They sat in comfortable silence before Pepper broke it. "The team is worried. You were gone three days."

Three days? Tony thought it would have been a bit longer. Five, maybe six.

"Where are they?" He grunted.

It was curious why they weren't in the hospital room.

"Clint threw a fit when they wouldn't let you off sedatives. He said you didn't need them and you were only going to have more nightmares if you were out longer. The doctors threw him out."

 _A fist smashing into his mouth._

 _A foot cracking into his ribs._

 _A knife._

 _'Well, that wasn't very nice.'_

Tony flinched suddenly, curling around his left arm.

"Can you get him for me?" Tony hoarsely asked, his voice much shakier than it had been.

"Of course, Tony." She kissed his cheek before leaving.

Tony began to think. He was gone three days, which meant Monday to Wednesday he was in the lovely custody of the backstreet hooligans. He broke out at night, which meant it was either late Wednesday or early Thursday. Likely Thursday.

He heard the fast footsteps approaching his door.

He scrambled to relax his facial features and to stop the persistent trembling. He couldn't show any emotion, he just had to pretend to be calm, then they'd think everything would be okay.

The door, this one much better oiled, swung open.

Tony took in the sight of his best friend. Clint hadn't appeared to have shaved in a couple days, his pathetic try at a beard was growing out in patchy scruff. His hair was matted, not overbearingly greasy but enough that it was starting to get distracting.

Clint strode right up to Tony, the textbook definition of tactless.

"What the _hell_ happened?" Clint demanded, his voice thick and awkward sounding.

"Kidnapping." Pepper spoke up, probably thinking Tony wouldn't want to talk about it again. She was right, and for that Tony was grateful.

Clint looked like he wanted to slap Tony across his slightly bruised face, but held himself back. "You've got three cracked ribs; you know that? A broken finger, missing tooth, pretty bruised jaw, burns all over your leg, and possible pneumonia. They really must have done a number on you." Clint sounded sorrowful, his eyes shrouding and glazing over. "Sorry we couldn't find you."

"Katniss, don't you dare say sorry. It's not your fucking fault some guys wanted to kidnap me. You look exhausted, which probably meant you were up for days trying to find me."

Clint bowed his head and opened his mouth once again.

"Don't even think about apologizing for something that is not your fault." Clint clicked his mouth shut. The archer gulped and sat down next to the bed.

"So, uh," Clint looked uncertain precisely what to say. His hand lifted, hovering just over Tony before he returned it back to his side. Clint cleared his throat, "You wanna watch The Goonies?"

"Why do you even have to ask?"

* * *

It had been one week since Tony woke up.

Three days since he walked into his home.

One hour since he was allowed back in his lab.

Tony had immediately locked the doors, drawing the privacy curtains and sliding down a far wall to curl in on himself. He was _home,_ finally safe and out of sight.

He had Jarvis examine his arm, scan it with MRI machines, thermodynamic scanners, essentially every piece of machinery Tony still owned from when he was dying from Palladium (how long ago that felt.)

His arm began to burn again, Jarvis supplied the solution as his own body's ability to flush out the toxins left over from the drug he had been injected with. Whatever drug it was, it was highly experimental, anything that could heal or speed up the healing process to that degree could only be experimental.

While Jarvis worked on various chemical compounds and solvents, Tony tackled the mound of paperwork he normally didn't do even when healthy. He was starting to suspect Pepper forged his signature better than his own penmanship.

 _"Sir?"_

"Speak to me, Jar." Tony grunted, scribbling out his name when his cursive T looked too similar to a F.

 _"I have detected trace amounts of the experimental compound Higoperilum in the localized tissues of your left forearm."_

Tony set the pen down, and examined the normal skin of his arm in question. It tingled and burned under his direct touch.

"Higoperilum?" Tony questioned blandly, Bruce was the one who had more luck recognizing these ridiculous chemical names.

 _"Correct. It is a stimulant drug created with the intentions of boosting the metabolism rate of specific tissues-"_

"Right right, Mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell," Tony chewed on the tip of the pen thoughtfully, "Any way to kick it out?"

 _"Higoperilum has been reported with an experimental cure, the alternative is to wait and allow the drug to fade naturally from the body."_

"Aw, J. When have I ever played it safe?" Tony grinned, exhaling shakily and blinking away the sensation, "Just- just get it out. What's the experiment?"

 _"An injection of naturally occurring arsenic in a 2 CC solvent of saline."_

Tony paused, "Arsenic? Like, rat poison. You want to stick me with _rat poison?"_

 _"Arsenic has the unique property of reducing the rate of cellular respiration within the afflicted area-"_

"Right, and my cellular respiration is off the charts," Tony sighed through his nose, "Alright, well, do we have any arsenic laying around?"

Jarvis paused, _"I have detected natural arsenic in Dr. Banner's lab-"_

"Sweet, let's get it and let's do this,"

The injection wasn't painful. Nothing about it was painful. In only a couple days, the burning pain faded and his wrist no longer hurt. There was no evidence of anything that occurred to his left arm, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Time passed, people forgot.

Near the end of a particular science spree, brought on by an offhand comment by Natasha observing a science fiction movie of all things, he was startled out of his daze by someone walking into his lab. It wasn't specifically banned, but visitors were stuff uncommon. It was enough to startle him as the jumpiness still persisted.

He whipped his head in the direction of the noise; Natasha stood stationary and pristine like a Greek statue.

"Tony, you haven't eaten in two days. Come to dinner."

Evidently, she wasn't silent like a statue.

Tony knew better than to argue with Natasha, she was scarily persistent when needed. Tony stood slowly, making an elaborate scene of stretching and groaning, grinning like a shark when she shifted impatiently.

Steve was cooking something, probably bland food. That's all the super soldier really knew how to make, the way he enjoyed it like it was a prized cake made Tony cringe. He wondered what it would be like growing up without the use of spices, or at least the condiment salt. He shuddered at the thought.

"The beast emerges from his wild habitat, in the search of food." Clint spoke with a terrible accent, perched on a stairwell railing which really was not a perch for anyone.

"Who are you, Steve Irwin?" Natasha dryly asked.

"David Attenborough, and sounds pretty close in my opinion." Bruce offered from the other side of the kitchen.

"He comes in close contact with the Widow. Will they fight for the tasteless food, or will they share?" Clint continued on, ducking low on the banister with a remarkable amount of balance. Steve's face drooped the tiniest bit.

Natasha searched through her hair for something, plucking a bobby pin from the artfully styled mess. She flicked her wrist, sending the small piece of plastic flying where it smacked into Clint's face.

"Let's eat without arguing, please." Bruce jumped in, everyone listened to him since as strange as it sounded, he was normally the voice of reason.

Steve set out the pork, with no seasoning or marinade (c'mon, that's just cruel) for everyone. Tony without a second glance fetched a huge bottle of Barbecue sauce from the fridge. It was a testament to Steve's cooking that the gallon jug was already half gone.

They all sat down around the elaborate glass dining table. Thor's seat was empty, as the Asgardian was visiting Jane for an anniversary of something Tony didn't care about. It was convenient the god wasn't here, it left blander food for everyone else.

The conversation topics varied widely with very few links between. They jumped from Beyoncé, who Tony proclaimed only he could rival her epicness, to Family Guy, where Clint teased Tony for getting his ideas from an animated TV show, to Walmart's new Avengers clothing line, Tony personally loved the Hulk sweaters; Bruce didn't. The food lay forgotten after a while, thankfully Steve didn't notice.

"Well, I'm going back down to the lab." Tony stood up with only a small amount of pain oriented from his sides and diaphragm. He carried his plate over to the kitchen sink, setting it in with a loud clatter to help emphasize his finality.

"No, you're not." Steve protested, crossing his arm and starting his nearly trademark disappointed frown.

Tony turned on his heel to glare at the blond. "Yes, I am."

"Tony, ever since you were allowed back in there, you haven't come back out. Just stay out of there for a couple hours and get some sleep." Steve was obviously annoyed and angry, but Tony had this stubborn streak stretching all the way back to his childhood.

"Oh boy," Clint whispered under his breath, nudging Natasha conspiringly.

"I'm not a child, Cap." Tony growled, now getting agitated. Since Steve was formally named leader of the Avengers, he had assumed he had the right to set rules for everyone in their day to day life. Steve couldn't tell him when he was banned from _his lab._

"I have work to do." Tony turned to leave, ignoring the groan of displeasure and annoyance.

Someone grabbed his wrist to hold him above ground, an innocent gesture to keep him in the room.

They grabbed his _left wrist._

Words are difficult. They don't have definitions strong enough to convey the series of emotions that overwhelmed Tony in a single second.

Panic wasn't quite strong enough. Dread, terror, horror, hysteria, mania; nothing quite fit the exact description

He was tied to a chair, the rope was digging into his wrist and fingertips growing numb.

His blood, his blood was _everywhere._

He could feel it in his throat, it was drowning him and filling his nose in a thick molasses gel which was suffocating again and again-

He was _drowning,_ it was so cold and the water was everywhere, it was swooshing in his ears and down his lungs, he couldn't breathe. He couldn't _breathe._

Julian had a distinct chuckle, it was calm and confident. The precision and staged politeness of a badly timed joke at the doctor's office. It was controlled and calculated and it was ringing in his ears like a record on repeat.

 _'Well, that was rude.'_

And his arm exploded in _fire._

The knife- _the goddamn knife_ , it was digging and tearing and slicing his skin apart. He knew, he _knew_ that if he looked down he would be able to see dark red strips of meat. Dark red like the raw pork Steve had just cooked. He would be able to see the bones of his arm, the fragile ulna tucked alongside his radius. He could see Julian smile behind his eyelids, his perfect teeth and tanned skin.

 _'Let's get rid of this, yeah?'_

He screamed- the bones were breaking. He could see them splintering like a chicken wing snapped in the jaws of a starving dog. He saw the knife trail higher, slicing and tugging out the veins and arteries, removing the muscles of his bicep and moving higher and higher- _oh god it was going to his throat._

 _No please no_

He was crying, he felt it cascade over his face. Maybe it was more blood. Maybe he had gouged out his eyes.

He could hear shouting in the background, words and voices that he couldn't understand, sounds he couldn't comprehend. For a brief moment he thought he smelled the distinct hot dust of a cave. He thought he saw the gentle knowing smile on bloodstained lips- before they morphed into the calm calculated smile bending to whisper in his ear.

 _'That wasn't so bad.'_

Someone curled an arm around his shoulder, just below his throat and across his collarbones. He recoiled, flailing backwards as the restrains on his wrists vanished but his ribs flared in pain at the jolt. He tried to get away- he _had_ to get away.

 _'Tony.'_ There was a voice, warbling like Julian's disappointed tssking- but it was wrong, the tone was wrong.

"Tony." It repeated, it wasn't Julian. It _wasn't_ Julian.

The realizations made the fog lift, it _wasn't_ Julian, the voice was quiet and gentle. It was sweet and soft like a spring rain. It sounded like Pepper.

Pepper. It was _Pepper_ , wasn't it? He needed her.

"Tony-" _Yes,_ yes it was her. It was _her._

"Just take a big breath for me, okay?"

It was Pepper. She told him to breathe in, so he did.

He inhaled and held it, even as Julian tilted his head before his eyes, smiling and holding the small petty knife with the daintiness of a butter knife.

"Breathe out, Tony."

He did

He got a breathing pattern down after a while, closing his eyes harshly and pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes hard enough that they stung. He blinked, breathed out, and he was gone.

His arm wasn't hurting anymore.

He was huddled in the kitchen corner, near the huge pantry where Steve hoarded all the pasta sauce. His arm was bloody, nothing severe. Thin hairline scrapes from his nubby nails had torn the gentle skin of his wrist, catching on the small scab from his injection long ago.

Pepper was sitting on the floor next to him, speaking to him gently with soothing tones.

She was telling him he was doing great and just to keep breathing. It felt distant, everything felt so far away.

Nobody else was in the room.

"I'm alright now." He choked out. Pepper glared at him softly, unsure how to express her fear and concern.

"You are _not_ fine. Come with me to bed." He didn't complain. She gently reached out, hands always staying in his line of sight as she helped him up. He winced as his ribs groaned in protest. She was gentle, smiling and running a gentle hand through his hair when he sagged against her.

He fell asleep when he rested on the bed, Pepper whispering soothing noises and gently stroking the fading bruises from his face.

Tony woke up from nightmares to Pepper, her gentle smile and sleep lidded eyes soothed him only by her presence.

"What happened last night?" She asked him, speaking with soft whispers. Tony took a shuddering breath and told her.

He told her everything.

Her face grew angrier and angrier with every word, eventually settling into a deep sadness. A tear had managed to crawl out of the corner of her eye, curling around her cheekbone and down her face before she could wipe it away.

. "I'm going to go down there and give Steve a piece of my mind." Pepper growled, the terrifying rage of a ginger swirling when Tony told her what Steve had done last night. Tony shook his head frantically. "No, don't. It's not his fault."

Pepper's eyes softened and also became worried at the pleading tone Tony used.

"Okay, then." She snuggled back into his right side. They talked about nothing, periodically napping when they felt the urge the rest of the morning.

At noon, Pepper had a directors meeting. As much as Tony wanted her to stay, she was running _his_ company. She had responsibilities.

After a moments deliberation about actually putting on socially accepted clothing, Tony dressed in his casual clothes and went down to his lab. He worked for a standard three hours before becoming distracted by the niggling memories of the night before. Without the distraction of his lab, his hunger quickly became apparent against his best wishes.

He _knew_ he would get ambushed by a team member, but at this time, _this one time,_ he didn't care.

He was ready for what they had to give.

He walked quietly closer and closer to the kitchen; he decided to forgo shoes so his bare feet padded nearly silently over the granite floor. He could hear voices through the walls the closer he got.

"He was fucking tortured for three days! Of course he'd be triggered!"

"I didn't know he'd do that-"

"You should never grab someone like that, Rogers!"

Oh, _that_ was harsh.

"If it was me, I would have punched you."

Tony walked into the kitchen, immediately stopping the discussion about him. He opened the fridge, selected a small bag of carrots and turned around expectant.

Everyone was staring at him. "What? I got something on my face?"

Tony tried to make the tense situation cool down a little bit, but no avail. It was worth a shot.

"We need to talk." The determination in Natasha's voice rang true, echoing off the silence of the huge room.

. Tony shrugged, playing the dumb card. "What about?"

"About the fact that you literally stopped breathing as soon as Steve touched you." Clint added, his expression carefully blank the way he only went when he was borderline furious.

"Well, I wouldn't necessarily say _stopped_ breathing. More like, have troubles with breathing." Tony sat down next to Bruce, who's eyes were turning the faintest of green. "At least I think; I mean I didn't pass out so I must have been breathing."

"Could you tell us what happened? During the kidnapping?" Steve asked, causing Tony to freeze entirely.

After Afghanistan, it had taken years before Tony told Pepper what had happened. It had taken therapists, psychologists, Jarvis, and a half dozen epiphanies before he opened up a little.

Tony sighed quietly. It wasn't as bad as Afghanistan, but he could do it. He didn't _want to_ , but he could.

"They started off by tying me to a chair. Simple. You can see that stuff in the guidebook for _How-to-be-a-Dick,"_ Tony exhaled shakily, trying to remain calm and casual.

"Next they beat me up with fists. Average. Maybe they learned that from Wikihow. Then- _then_ they brought in the tub of water." Tony stopped for a second, his hands were shaking. They were curled into fists and vibrating with the intensity of his tremors.

He thought he was over this.

He guessed he wasn't.

"They waterboarded me for a- for a while. They broke my pinky, as you can see." He held up his splinted finger. "On the last day- I think it was the last day. I don't know. The leader had come into my room with- with this pen knife." Tony paused, staring glassily downwards, "a fucking _pen knife."_

He laughed something hysterical, breaking into a sob and running a single hand through his hair, "He- he cut open my wrist. There- there was the implant next to the bone, he tore it out. He _tore_ it _out."_

Bruce stood abruptly and started pacing.

Steve looked like he was going to be violently ill, Clint looked angry, and Natasha appeared worried. Bruce steadily stood up, tightly smiled, and left.

"They sewed it up and put higoperilum in my arm," Tony exhaled, "It's- It's this drug. It speeds up your healing, but it burns. And, and it doesn't _stop."_

Clint whispered something Russian under his breath, at which Natasha nodded looking dazed.

"It's- it's fine now." Tony swallowed, tucking his arm close to his body, "There's a cure, with arsenic. Ask Jarvis, I just-" Tony's jaw tensed and flexed, "I can't. Do this, I can't do this right now."

Tony grabbed the bag of carrots, and turned.

He left the kitchen, carrots in tow.

* * *

 **There's the conclusion.**

 **Please review or bookmark or whatever it is you crazy people do.**

 **The sister story (essentially the exact same thing) is posted on AO3 with the same name, pop over and leave a kudos if you'd like.**


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